Ghost Gum Valley

by Johanna Nicholls

  Isabel was still bewildered. ‘It’s slightly smaller in scale. Seven bays instead of nine. And the stone seems warmer in colour. But it’s a remarkable copy. The same Gothic lines, chimneys, balconies, gables; the castellated widow’s walk. Why would your father go to such trouble to recreate the house of a family he didn’t even know?’

  Marmaduke raised one eyebrow. ‘Didn’t your illustrious family tell you anything?’

  ‘Do you mean to say he actually knew my family?’

  ‘Knew ’em? He was their servant. Godfrey was the bloke who had him transported.’

  Isabel was appalled. ‘Oh my God! How your father must hate us.’

  Marmaduke’s head was so close to hers she could feel his breath against her cheek.

  ‘You can’t stop now, Marmaduke. Why was he transported?’

  ‘He was a go-between, carrying love letters from Godfrey’s sister to her lover—’

  ‘Aunt Elisabeth!’ Isabel was shocked at how easily the pieces fell into place. She told him how her guardian had cut his sister off without a penny after her unsuitable marriage.

  Marmaduke nodded. ‘That fits. When Godfrey de Rolland discovered Garnet’s role in the plot he had him arrested for theft. False evidence was provided by Silas de Rolland. The magistrate accepted an aristocrat’s word against his illiterate servan’st – surprise, surprise! That’s how young George copped fourteen years for the “theft” of a ring he claims Elisabeth gave him as a gift of thanks. That garnet ring earned Father his Australian nickname, Garnet.’

  Isabel was stunned by her family’s role in Garnet Gamble’s downfall.

  ‘So why was he so determined to buy a de Rolland bride for you?’

  ‘Don’t you see? Garnet grabbed his destiny with both hands. Despite being illiterate his sharp business practices built his fortune. By hook and definitely by crook he recreated the world he had envied in England. You represent Garnet’s sublime act of revenge. A convicted felon has saved from debtor’s prison the man who had him transported. And gained a trophy – a wife for his son. Garnet triumphed. He made the de Rolland family eat dirt!’

  ‘Yes, but my family had their own revenge by sending me!’ she said bitterly.

  ‘Nonsense. Your blood’s still blue, isn’t it? Let’s get you ready to make your big entrance.’

  Marmaduke grabbed her by the hand and ran with her to the front door. Standing before the lion’s-head doorknocker, he paused to whisper his final instructions.

  ‘Don’t forget, soldier. Keep your intense dislike of me for when we’re alone. In public lie through your teeth. Lay it on thick. You adore me!’

  Chapter 24

  The entrance to the Gamble mansion was a pair of massive timber doors surmounted by an elaborate fanlight. Marmaduke presumed this must be a replica of de Rolland Park’s doorway except that it was crowned with the entwined letters GG. The brass doorknocker bore the head of the Royal Lion of England.

  Marmaduke saw himself as a toddler in Queenie’s arms playing the game in which he roared like a lion before he rapped the lion’s head. Linked to the echo of Queenie’s laughter, this was a rare happy memory in a house full of dark secrets.

  Like a child ‘whistling in the dark’ to give himself courage, Marmaduke again roared like a lion. The door was opened by Bridget.

  ‘It’s you! Ye scared the living daylights out of me. We’ve been living in fear of bushrangers coming to overhaul us.’

  Marmaduke handed her the saddlebags. ‘No need to announce our arrival, Bridget. Show Mrs Gamble to her room and help her change. Assist her in every way she requires.’

  He planted a light kiss on Isabel’s cheek. ‘Welcome to our humble home, Isabel.’

  Bridget looked Isabel over before addressing Marmaduke. ‘The master’s in the green drawing room.’

  Marmaduke crossed the marble floor of the atrium that lay between the east and west wings of the house. Glancing up at the windows of the second-storey picture gallery, he fancied that the painted ancestral faces were eyeing his progress.

  The predicted storm had broken. Flashes of sheet lightning bathed everything through the domed skylight that straddled the atrium, throwing into relief the sandstone walls and indented alcoves framing Greek statues of naked Olympians and half-naked goddesses. Alternating pedestals held urns of tropical ferns with withered fronds that never thrived.

  Nothing will ever enjoy health and happiness in this accursed house.

  At the far end of the atrium Marmaduke squared his shoulders before throwing open the double doors. He knew exactly what lay ahead of him.

  The green drawing room was exactly as Marmaduke remembered. The décor was so grandiose that Napoleon Bonaparte himself would not have looked out of place. Except that the Emperor’s N was substituted by the double G emblazoned on every conceivable space – marble fireplace, tapestry backs of French Empire chairs, etched on crystal and silverware.

  The powerful, broad-shouldered figure of Garnet Gamble stood poised before the fireplace, wineglass in hand.

  Framed in the doorway Marmaduke announced himself in ringing tones. ‘Your black sheep has returned, Garnet. I am the bearer of glad tidings that will surprise even you! My marriage to Isabel is fait accompli.’

  ‘I knew that! Nothing escapes my network of informants, boyo. I presume you brought me the marriage certificate?’

  Marmaduke presented it with a flourish but Garnet scowled at the unfamiliar document.

  ‘What’s this? It isn’t a marriage certificate.’

  ‘Same thing. A Quaker certificate of commitment. It’s perfectly legal.’

  ‘Quakers! They’re the weird mob who practise temperance!’

  ‘They’re the mob who are respected pacifists and do great humanitarian work among the poor, in prisons,’ he added, ‘and lunatic asylums.’

  Garnet stiffened at the reference. ‘Well, where is our bride?’

  Isabel stood at the top of the stairs her head held high, one lace mitten holding the balustrade. Marmaduke watched her descend in silence.

  The girl who had gone upstairs travel-stained, tired and cranky now seemed to radiate sunlight. The buttercup yellow gown was trimmed with white rosebuds cleverly placed to compensate for her small bosom. The flickering light of the chandelier’s oil lamps sent golden arrows darting across the silken folds and the creamy flesh of her shoulders. Her tiny waist was so inviting Marmaduke had a strong impulse to encircle it with his hands.

  Her centre-parted hair gave equal balance to the side curls hanging in ringlets. Her pale face and wide green eyes held the fear she was trying valiantly to mask. She wore no jewellery except her wedding ring and Mendoza’s little gold pendant. Isabel didn’t need any further adornment. She took his breath away.

  ‘Well? You designed it. Is it what you expected?’ she asked.

  ‘You’ll do,’ he said.

  Marmaduke cupped her elbow in one hand and steered her through the double doors. Isabel’s steps faltered at sight of the atrium.

  ‘My God, your father even recreated this! There’s Mercury and Diana and—’

  ‘Never mind paying tribute to the gods. Plenty of time for a tour of inspection later.’

  He paused before the closed doors that led to the green drawing room. Isabel looked so lovely, so vulnerable he felt unaccountably moved to snap at her.

  ‘Isabel, you disobeyed my orders. I distinctly told you a woman’s body must breathe. Corsets are verboten!’

  ‘I – am – not – wearing – one!’ she hissed at him through clenched teeth, awkwardly pulling her neckline higher.

  ‘For God’s sake will you stop doing that?’ Marmaduke ordered. ‘You’re not facing the Mother Superior of a convent.’ He gave her bodice a sharp tweak downwards that caused the gentle curve of her breasts to blossom above the rosebuds.

  ‘What’s wrong now?’ she asked in annoyance. ‘Why are you looking at me like that?’

  ‘You’re so pale, you look like you’ve seen the famil
y ghost.’

  ‘What did you expect? You made your father sound like a vampire.’

  ‘You look as if you’ve just given your blood to one.’ He touched her cheek with one finger. ‘You need more colour, too late for a touch of rouge. May I?’

  He took her face between both hands and kissed her mouth deeply and demandingly until he felt her body give that delightful tremor he knew was the sign of a woman caught between surprise and surrender.

  Isabel broke free, flushed and very angry.

  Marmaduke took a step backwards to gain the full effect.

  ‘Yeah, that’s better. You now look more like a lusty bride than a bride of Christ.’

  ‘You insufferable pig!’ she hissed.

  Marmaduke dodged as her hand swung out to strike him full in the face, but right at that moment the doors were flung open by Garnet. Isabel’s hand changed course, curling into a loving gesture to rearrange Marmaduke’s stock.

  Her eyes gazed adoringly up at him. Her voice purred, ‘Marmaduke, I don’t know how you ever managed to tie your stock before you married me...there! Now you are quite perfect, my darling.’

  Marmaduke watched in admiration her touching portrayal of a startled faun as she faced Garnet. She sank into a deep curtsey and stretched out her hand to her father-in-law.

  ‘I don’t feel we need a formal introduction. You could be none other than the master of Bloodwood Hall, Mr Gamble. You have no idea how I have been longing to meet you.’

  Marmaduke noted that just for once his father’s smile was genuine. Garnet’s expression as he bent to kiss her hand told Marmaduke all he wanted to know.

  Eureka! The manipulative bastard has taken the bait!

  The moment Isabel entered through the portal of the green drawing room and confronted Garnet Gamble, she knew she had irretrievably passed into another world. Another life. The wedding had been a sham. This was the reality. And what a reality!

  Her ancestral home possessed any number of impressive chambers but ever since her fall from grace she had been virtually confined to the limited world of Agnes’s quarters, the estate’s gardens and Uncle Godfrey’s library.

  The size and grandeur of the Gamble assembly room dazzled her. It was not furnished in the exact style of the original but it had, for Isabel, one huge advantage. She would be free to enter it at will for as long as she remained under this roof. She tried to conceal her hunger to explore its treasures – the antique furniture, gilt-framed paintings, marble-topped occasional tables, sofas and chairs arranged in conversational clusters. Individually elegant French, English and Austrian Biedermeier examples were placed in juxtaposition with exotic pieces she recognised were imported from China and India, Britain’s ‘jewel in the crown’.

  What if Garnet’s style is nouveau riche? Who cares?

  Massive mirrors on opposite sides of the room reflected them from different angles and it seemed to Isabel that these ‘mirror people’ watched her every move. At the far end of the room French windows opened onto a garden blackened by night. Rain fell in filmy diagonal sheets; the garden statues, were silver-etched by lightning.

  Despite all its opulence it was Garnet Gamble who dominated the room. His voice lacked the deep rich timbre of Marmaduke’s and in subtle ways it betrayed his lack of education. But the silver-haired Gamble was craggily handsome, virile and, although he was not as tall as Marmaduke, his posture was erect, his tailcoat immaculately tailored, his stock perfectly tied. The charm and power he radiated were undeniable.

  ‘Dear boy, you did not exaggerate the treasure you brought home for me.’

  The master of Bloodwood Hall embraced his son but Isabel noticed that Marmaduke’s arms remained stiffly by his sides.

  Garnet instantly took control. He slipped Isabel’s hand through his arm and drew her down beside him on a Regency striped sofa clearly designed to be shared by two lovers.

  ‘Marmaduke knows my preference for Garnet, the name he called me as a little chap. It amused me and became a habit. I trust you’ll feel comfortable calling me Garnet, m’dear?’

  ‘Of course, whatever pleases you...Garnet.’

  ‘What a homecoming this is, eh? The linking of our two families under my roof. I could almost forgive my son for his impetuosity. Young blood, eh?’

  Marmaduke’s voice was equally silky but no less firm as he took hold of Isabel’s trembling hand.

  ‘My whirlwind courtship is in the Gamble tradition, Garnet. Isn’t that how you won Mother’s heart despite opposition from her father?’

  Isabel noticed Garnet’s rapid change of expression – veiled surprise, a flicker of suspicion and suppressed anger.

  Garnet’s a father who won’t tolerate being outflanked by his son. But what has Marmaduke done to upset him? They speak in code.

  Garnet’s hollow laugh sounded ambiguous. ‘Ah, so you have inherited my wild streak of passion, m’boy. But tell me, Isabel, how did you find Sydney Society?’

  Marmaduke launched into a story clearly designed to forestall Isabel’s answer.

  ‘You should have seen the sensation Isabel created at a ball for the Exclusives at Henrietta Villa, surrounded by Bourke’s Government officials and military officers all drawn to that rarest of Colonial treasures – a virtuous young English rose from an Old Family.’

  Isabel struggled to look suitably modest. What a bald-faced liar he is. What ball? But I must admit he’s ingenious. In one sentence he’s confirmed my virginity, had Sydney Town’s Quality at my feet and made our grubby little contract sound like the romance of the century.

  Garnet smiled paternally. Or was there some other motivation? ‘I welcome my new daughter with open arms. This house has been too long deprived of the sound of children’s laughter. May you honour me with many grandsons, m’dear.’

  Isabel chose her words with care. ‘I hope to have many children to honour my husband.’

  Garnet laughed in surprised approval. ‘A lady born with the gift of diplomacy. Breeding tells. We have chosen wisely.’

  Isabel was startled by a female voice from the doorway.

  ‘Many children? What surprise have you in store for us this time, Marmaduke?’

  ‘May I introduce you to my bride, Elise?’ Marmaduke replied.

  Isabel was startled. Who is this woman? Where does she fit into the family picture?

  She felt a pang of envy. The lush beauty reminded her of a full-blown rose. Her bare shoulders gleamed in the candlelight that highlighted her rich auburn hair and the silken folds of her emerald gown. She appeared to be in her late twenties and had clearly spent her life avoiding the harsh Australian sunlight. Her complexion had the unnatural pallor esteemed by ladies of Quality – and the French courtesans who rubbed their complexion with arsenic.

  The unknown beauty crossed gracefully to give Marmaduke a familial kiss.

  Isabel watched Garnet take command of the formal introductions.

  So this is my cue to exchange a curtsey with her – whoever she is. I suspect she’s Garnet’s lover and mistress of the house. She clearly resents me. I must watch my step.

  ‘I am delighted to meet you, Elise,’ she said, glad her thoughts were inaudible.

  Elise’s smile faltered but she recovered quickly. ‘Welcome, my dear. Bloodwood Hall has become such a man’s world in recent years I’ve been quite lonely for a woman’s company. I trust we shall become warm friends.’

  Garnet eyed them all as if enjoying some private pleasure.

  ‘Isabel, I have been saving a special vintage wine in the hope of living long enough to celebrate my son’s marriage. If you’ll excuse me I will retrieve it from under lock and key.’

  He had scarcely left the room when Elise broke into a lament about the inferior quality of Colonial servants. ‘You can’t trust assigned servants. Once a thief, always a thief. They’re all lazy and disobedient and have no idea of their place.’

  Since her arrival Isabel had seen evidence of the disparity between English servants born to se
rvice and convict assigned servants. It seemed to her like a form of slavery.

  ‘I understand they work the same long hours as our paid servants in England but receive nothing for their labour except food and clothing.’

  ‘It takes time to understand how The System works,’ Elise said, then pouted prettily at Marmaduke. ‘How mean you are to deny me the pleasure of arranging your wedding.’

  Marmaduke’s tone was dangerously polite. ‘I thought weddings bored you, Elise. No doubt Garnet will find some other entertainment to amuse you.’

  Isabel’s head was pounding like a drum. Doesn’t anyone in this family actually say what they mean? Why is Marmaduke so hostile to Elise? Because she’s usurped his mother’s place?’

  Elise quickly resumed her helpless little-girl demeanour. ‘I suppose I must be content to be Garnet’s hostess at our banquet to introduce Isabel to the local gentry.’ She turned to Isabel. ‘But I imagine you find our Colonial Society quite dull after London, do you not?’

  Isabel faltered. I can hardly admit my experience of London society was confined to a theatre box at Covent Garden.

  To her relief Marmaduke came to her rescue. ‘Allow me to explain the finer points of the System, Isabel. In addition to inheriting your rigid English class system we have over here Settlers who arrive on assisted passages or armed with money to invest in land. More than a third of us are transportees – a complex new” convict class” ranging from prisoners, to old lags who’ve done their time, to ticket-of-leave men free to work for wages. Then there are the Emancipists, those granted a full pardon at His Excellency’s pleasure or like Garnet – pardoned on condition they never darken Britain’s doors again.’

  Isabel was relieved Marmaduke had just briefed her about her new world but the anxiety in Elise’s eyes made her wonder if he had broken some conversational taboo.